


to get over you (if i get over you)

by spills



Series: Liminal [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Process of Getting Tattoo, Sunarin is bad at feelings, Tattoos, he hedges, like? is he gonna admit them? deny them?, no, once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: It’s a mistake that involves words being etched on his own skin, instead of words tumbling out his mouth in confession for someone else.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou, Past Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou, Unrequited Suna Rintarou/Kita Shinsuke
Series: Liminal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801246
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	to get over you (if i get over you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eclipsed (lucitae)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/gifts).



> the most unrealistic thing about this fic is going in for a walk-in and immediately getting a tattoo in the next 30mins

It’s been two days since Rintarou had broken up with Atsumu. 

Though, break up might be too strong of a word to use - since it’s just been 2 months since graduation, and Atsumu had been scouted by the Jackals here in Osaka, while Rintarou had been scouted by the Raijins all the way west. Rintarou wouldn’t consider what they’ve been doing (e.g. sleeping together, grabbing lunch together) to be particularly romantic, just things friends do alongside with additional activities. 

Both of them young adults, stuck in the liminal space of a waiting period, and with all that pent-up adrenaline athletes tended to have, it needed to go somewhere outside of the court as well. So no, they weren’t boyfriends - fuck buddies if Rintarou wanted to be crude - and the split had basically consisted of a short conversation along the lines of: 

“Guess we’re no longer exclusive, huh?”   
  
“Unless ya wanna take a bullet train every so often, then nah.” 

Rintarou had shook his head with a little chuckle, “I thought you liked me a little more than that, ‘Tsumu.” 

Atsumu had given a soft sigh in return, amused, if not a little melancholic. “I do like ya, only we know this wasn’t gonna work out in the long run yeah?” The setter had picked at his fingers, the bandages wrapped around them, and gave a lopsided smile that looked like  _ goodbye _ , “Don’t worry though, I’ll keep this summer fond in my heart, Sunarin.”

He couldn’t help the roll of his eyes, giving one half of the Miya twins a flick on his forehead.  _ Yowch!  _ Atsumu had whined, rubbing his forehead before giving a pout, the same pout Suna would have kissed off of Atsumu’s mouth in the morning. It’s no longer morning and they are no longer together. 

All things considered, it wasn’t that bad of a break up, though it did mean that again, Rintarou had lost another part of his teenage youth. 

Not that he needed these memories anyway. Which was why he was in the city, looking for some new gear, since his old volleyball shoes are worn out anyway. He’s been thinking about getting a new pair for a while. 

What belonged to his highschool years can stay here. He has to move on, from Inarizaki High, from his memories there, but the experiences themselves are etched into his bones, his muscles and reflexes. All of these things gained over the years, and yet. If there’s anything he can bring to Hiroshima with him, then maybe it’s something marred into his skin. 

Going into the tattoo parlour was an impulse decision, when he thought about golden eyes and soft white hair tipped with black. His previous captain, just a bit shorter than him, with a broader back, always leading the way. That back had disappeared after graduation, and the most Suna had heard from the rumor mill was that Kita-san was deep in land, running a rice farm. When Suna pushes open the door, a clear chime alerts the receptionist to look up from his screen. 

“Hey, welcome to the studio,” the man behind the counter gives him a glance over, “Do you have an appointment or…” and Suna shakes his head immediately at that. 

“I don’t. But I was wondering if it was possible for me to get something done today,” and the man nods at that, gesturing for Suna to come closer. 

“A walk-in then,” the man hums, “You have any idea what you’re looking for?” 

The question makes Rintarou hesitate for a moment, before he pulls out his phone. He steels his nerves, going through the gallery of his phone, an idea in his mind. There’s the photo he had taken with Inarizaki VBC during nationals, second year, with Kita Shinsuke standing in the center of the team, a small smile gracing his lips, their school banner hanging behind them. 

“ 思い出 なんか いらん.”    
_ We don’t need memories.  _

A rueful smile crosses Rintarou’s face, because while he’s looking for the banner, he wants it from a different photo, something a little closer to the present. So he swipes his thumb across the image, to look for the banner in clearer font, less distractions. Maybe he should have gone to their school’s website for their banner, but this is a good photo too. 

It’s a picture of graduation day. Osamu has an elbow draped over Suna’s shoulder, while Atsumu has a hand on Suna’s waist. His other hand is holding the banner belonging to the volleyball club -  _ "Omoide nanka iran,”  _ the words familiar on his tongue. Suna shows his phone to the receptionist, pointing at the words on the flag. 

He cocks his head to the side in question. “Is it possible for me to get this inked?” 

The man taps his fingers against the countertop, all five fingers adorned with rings. “We can do that,” the man flips through a book, grabs a pen with his other hand, “Mind telling me how big and where you want it?” 

Impulse decisions tend to become a mistake, and maybe he’s making a mistake right now, but if this happens to be a mistake, then Rintarou thinks he’s willing to go through with this one at least. It’s a mistake that involves words being etched on his own skin, instead of words tumbling out his mouth in a confession for someone else. 

Sometimes, he wonders what it would have meant if he had been more honest about his admiration towards his senpai. Toys with the idea, that maybe he would have had a chance, if he had allowed the other boy to know how deep his respect ran for him, that he had spent as much time observing Kita-san as Kita-san kept all of them in check. 

Rintarou considers first loves, and wonders if Kita could have been considered his first love. That maybe he fell in love with the older boy when Kita had received his jersey with both hands, with dignity, the number “1” printed on both sides of the fabric. Maybe he fell in love when he realized that Kita was just as human as the rest of them, eyes that had welled up with tears, but even while crying, the sounds he made were muffled. 

Maybe because it was Kita-san, Kita-senpai at the time, that’s why everyone’s eyes were focused on him. As if, everyone was given a gentle reminder that Kita Shinsuke too, is human. 

Humans with beating hearts, contradiction of the mind when decisions are being made. Rintarou thinks about his chest constricting, leaving him breathless while all thoughts had rushed up to his head on the day of his senior’s graduation. Cherry blossoms scattering everywhere as Rintarou had offered to help them take a photo, if it meant he got to keep the sillier ones for himself. 

He looks at the sizes offered, thinks about where this tattoo would look best, and thinks about the heart in his chest, and about the memories he doesn’t need anymore. To have “We Don’t Need Memories,” is an ode to highschool, Kita-san’s dislike for it, and a personal reminder. 

Rintarou gestures at the space underneath his heart, the line of his ribs. The wall has four sizes on display: coin, cigarette pack, postcard, and B5 size paper. 

“How about here?” Rintarou motions towards his ribcage, “In postcard size?” 

The receptionist nods, “Yeah, I can imagine it turning out pretty sick,” and flips through the pages again, before penning something down, “Is this your first tattoo though? Mr..?” 

“Suna’s fine,” Rintarou answers with ease, “It’s my first,” Rin admits, and the man gives a low whistle as he writes down some notes. 

“That area tends to hurt a lot,” the receptionist offers as a warning, not unkindly, before pulling out a contract from his drawer, “Anyway, just fill out this form, and I’ll get you sorted out.”

_ Tends to hurt a lot  _ is kind of an understatement, as Rintarou is rolled over on his side, arm raised over his hand for the tattoo artist to get a good view of his torso. 

He can’t help the clenching of his teeth, feels his eyes water ever so slightly, and eases the pain with breathing exercises. The pain is honestly overwhelming, as the needle stabs into him again and again, mixing ink and blood, carving kanji into his flesh. 

It hurts, and he’s wondering if he’s going to regret it. If he’s already regretting it. 

Wonders how long will the pain last, and if his ribs will eventually stop being sore soon enough. His departure to Hiroshima is in two weeks. He’ll be needing to play volleyball in two weeks. 

Oh god, his key offense features rest on his flexible torso. 

Whatever.   
Who needs memories.   
He’ll get used to the pain. 

He’s getting used to the pain. Shading process now: he’s digging his nails into the side of the tattoo bed. 

“You’re doing a good job,” murmurs the tattoo artist says in between breaks, and Rintarou can’t help but laugh, his ribs sore. Can’t help the yelp that escapes his mouth when a thumb is pressed into fresh ink.  
  
It hurts, but Rin knows that he’ll get used to it.

* * *

It’s after practice, and it’s him and Komori walking together on the way home. They live nearby each other, apartments opposite from each other on the street, in the same complex. 

“Dude,” Komori waves a hand to get Rintarou’s attention, “Suna, Sunarin, Sunaaa,” dragging the other man’s name on his tongue, being annoying on purpose now. Suna gives Komori a shove to the side with a good-natured roll of the eyes, as Komori merely laughs. 

“What do you want?” Suna asks, keeping his tone playful as Motoya shows him the screen of his phone. Tweeter, someone’s profile, and some images, images that look familiar enough for Suna to narrow his eyes before giving a scandalized gasp, realizing why the torso looks so familiar. 

For one, that’s his torso, and his tattoo, images taken about a year ago. His hands itch to reach for for his ribs, but Motoya’s eyes are on him, so he decides to deflect any need for providing an explanation by asking, “Where did you find that?” with a weak glower. 

Komori only shrugs before pocketing his phone, “What can you  _ not  _ find on the internet?” an impish smile, and how everyone was convinced Motoya was an angel upon first glance really needed to get their eyes washed. Or at least witness the devilish grin that he’s wearing on his face right now. “Look, at least it wasn’t a nude,” a moment of silence, and horror crosses Komori’s face, exaggerated and brief, “You’ve never sent anyone a nude, right?” which makes Suna whack the back of his head. 

“What? You want one?” Suna hisses, cheeks red, trying to figure out the best method to strangle his teammate. 

“Nope,” Motoya laughs, making rejection sound sweet, eyes crinkled at the edge, “Though, I guess I was always curious why you would wear a dri-fit tee underneath your jersey at all times,” the libero tilts his head to the side, “You know no one would judge you for the tattoo right?” 

“Yes I know, because we are nothing more than one big supportive family within the EJP Raijins team,” he answers dryly, “What’s your goal here, ‘Toya?” 

“Just thought it would be neat to see the ink in the flesh,” Motoya stretches his arms over his head, turns his cheek to the side to make eye contact with Rintarou, “I’m jealous really. Inarizaki got a banner cool enough to be a sick tattoo, while all Itachiyama got was  _ Effort _ .”

“If you want to see it so badly, how about you come over to mine?” 

The smile turns into a grin, and that’s how Rin knows he has given Motoya exactly what he was aiming for. 

“As long as you don’t mind the intrusion.”

* * *

“I didn’t expect you to be the sentimental sort, Rin,” Motoya comments as he helps Rin out of his shirt. 

And it’s true, because Rin isn’t the sentimental sort, not in the way Kita-san was, who took notes and paid careful attention to his surroundings deliberately. Rin is not the sentimental sort, and that’s why he’s trying to not think about Kita Shinsuke now. 

“I’m not,” Rin refutes the claim, “Why else would I have placed _ We Don't Need Memories  _ under my heart? 

Motoya blinks, before letting a small smile grace his lips. Something small and uncertain, and Rin thinks that he can see the shadow of  _ if you say so _ in the other man's eyes. 

Before Rintarou can say anything though, Motoya has dipped his head, pressing his mouth gently against the script - an act so gentle, it almost feels reverent.

“Okay,” Motoya agrees breezily, “You aren’t sentimental. Just stay in the moment with me now then.”

**Author's Note:**

> i forgot when i started on liminal-verse but i just knew i wanted it to be canon compliant .  
> this was supposed to be an unrequited sunakita study that turned into a suna study because today is a suna rintarou type of day. 
> 
> the tattoo tho! i actually have it etched on me, which is where i got inspiration for the fic from... just think it would look neat on this beauty
> 
> if you're curious about the tattoo, just hmu @ [tweeter!](https://twitter.com/RainElsewhere)


End file.
